The Fire
by samvimes
Summary: Constable Vimes' view of the Great Ankh-Morpork Fire set at the beginning of The Colour Of Magic.


O, gosh.  
  
Well, after the slew of comments on my last story (gee whiz, I   
haven't gotten that much feedback since the grand old days of   
X-files fanfic back in the mid-nineties) I thought I would try  
posting a few more. Thanks to all who responded, you made my  
Saturday with your kind words :)  
  
And hello again, gentle readers...just a few mild comments before   
the story commences. :)   
  
Some facts in this story are based on events in The Night Watch, but   
nothing I would actually call /spoilers/. Still, if you're of the   
'better safe than sorry' persuasion, be safe and skip it.   
  
Some facts in this story are also probably wrong. I'm usually pretty  
good at fitting things in, but occasionally I make a slight twist.   
Nothing that can't, I think, be dealt with.  
  
I supose you could call this "part two" of a series of vignettes   
based around quotes. It comes next chronologically, anyhow, following  
The Carving Lesson.   
  
  
  
The Fire  
Two years after the events in The Night Watch (some of them, anyhow);  
set at the beginning of The Colour of Magic.  
  
  
By now the whole of downtown Morpork was alight, and the richer and   
worthier citizens of Ankh on the far bank were bravely responding to   
the situation by feverishly demolishing the bridges.  
-- The Colour of Magic  
  
  
Constable Sam Vimes -- a little wiser, a little wilier, and a good deal   
/faster/ than the raw recruit of two years ago -- was woken from a deep   
sleep by Iffy Scurrick, who was shaking his shoulder frantically.  
  
"Geddup, Sam, come on," Iffy said urgently. "Fire in the city!"  
  
"Wha...?" Sam asked, tangling himself in the blankets. "Fir'?"  
  
"Sam, it's fire!"  
  
"Holy hells," Sam Vimes said, then looked about to make sure his mum   
hadn't heard that. "What time do you call this, then?"  
  
"Almost five in the evening. I thought you'd be on duty -- "  
  
Sam rubbed the stubble on his chin as he rolled out of bed. "It's my   
day /off/," he said, to point out the general unfairness of the   
universe.  
  
"Everyone's being called back on to help the bucket chains." Iffy's   
eyes gleamed. "We're gonna be heroes, Sam!"  
  
Sam, who had less imagination than Iffy but a better sense of   
self-preservation, was pulling his britches on. "I doubt it," he said.   
"We're gonna be steak. Rare."  
  
"Come on!" Iffy tossed him his sword belt. "Serve and protect,   
remember?"  
  
"Oh aye, on ten dollars a month and all the armour polish you can   
steal," Sam sighed. "All right, I'm coming."  
  
Only then did he notice the red glare cast over his tiny closet of a   
bedroom. He ran to the second-floor window and looked out.  
  
Flames were already licking towards the river Ankh; most buildings,   
constructed after the last fire, were made of old, dry wood with   
thatch-and-tar roofs, which just showed that you could burn a man's   
house down without increasing his IQ one bit.   
  
"Holy hells," he said again. "Where's mum?"  
  
"I sent her up with our nan and the younger boys on the fishmonger's   
cart. They're going to try to get out through the Hubwards Gate."  
  
"Thanks, Iffy." Sam picked up his helmet. "Sword, truncheon, badge,   
helmet, boots. All right."  
  
The two men -- barely more than boys, though you grew up quick in   
Cockbill Street -- ran down the rickety stairs and into the flaming   
evening.  
  
***  
  
Sam never fully remembered everything that happened between waking and   
arriving at the Misbegot Bridge; it was mostly a blur of people   
fighting to get away from the flames, while he and Iffy moved upstream   
through the crowds. He /did/ recall wondering why he was running in the   
wrong direction, but then the image of a young girl about to be   
trampled by a spooked horse crossed his vision. He still had a   
half-horseshoe scar on one leg, where he'd been kicked.  
  
He also thought he recalled a wizard with a walking steamer trunk, but   
for a number of years he put that down to stress.  
  
There wasn't much the Watch could do, save supervise the bucket chains   
and try to get the kiddies and grannies out of their burning houses.   
Some of the older folk wouldn't come, with that firm querelousness that   
arrives around the age of seventy.   
  
He found himself, along with Corporal Colon and the kid Nobby, standing   
on the edge of the Misbegot Bridge about two hours later. The flame   
hadn't reached here yet, and he saw torches on the other side of the   
river.   
  
"They's plannin' on destroyin' the bridge," Nobby said, puffing from   
his run. "I just bin over there. Good pickins when the fire hits."  
  
"Goddam," Sam breathed, hoarsely. He was pretty sure his eyebrows were   
gone. "Goddam nobs. Rich as pudding and not lifting a finger."  
  
"What's stoppin' 'em wreckin' the bridge?" Colon asked.   
  
"Dunno. Some old sod an' rich biddy standin' in the way. Girl's   
bleatin' bout savin' the city." Nobby sniffed, and glanced at the   
burning buildings behind them. "Bit late, I should think."  
  
Sam could hear voices now, carried on the wind that was whipping the   
flames even higher. They were the cultured tones of a gentleman who had   
generations of good breeding to fall back on.  
  
"Naow, Naow, let's not be fools," the man was saying. "A few   
well-placed buckets of sand on this side of the bridge, and the   
property need not be destroayed."  
  
Sam felt red rage rising in front of his eyes. Even the people trying   
to stop the mob weren't concerned about the Morpork side of the city.   
"Come on, Nobby," he said. "Corp, go or stay?"  
  
Fred Colon looked frightened. "Now young Sam, you know -- "  
  
"They're going to maroon half the city in a firestorm!" Sam shouted.   
  
"I'm your superior officer, Sam!" Fred answered sharply, but a sharp   
remark from Fred Colon was like a whipping with a damp tissue.   
  
"Then act like it!" Sam shot back. He took off at a good turn of speed,   
towards the other end of the bridge. Nobby, after giving Colon a sullen   
look, followed.   
  
"E's going to die," Colon muttered, but followed at a safe distance.   
Sam was always getting into this sort of thing. The boy didn't have an   
active thought in his head, half the time.  
  
"What's all this, then?" he heard Sam asking, as he reached the far   
side. The gentleman that'd yelled about property damage was on an   
enormous grey horse, which reared. The woman holding the bridle, a   
well-proportioned lady, glared at Sam.  
  
"We're not wrecking the bridge," she said defiantly.  
  
"Glad to hear it, ma'am," Sam said, a slight edge of hysteria on his   
voice.  
  
"We ought to be helping them!" the woman continued.   
  
"Then join a bucket chain," said the constable nastily. "Who's in   
charge here?"  
  
"I am," said the man on the horse. "We don't need the Watch."  
  
"You and a horse against that mob? You need anyone you can get," Sam   
growled, ducking a thrown brick. Rich folk, he reflected, didn't bother   
with vegetables; they went straight for masonry.  
  
"He's the Watch, father!" the woman said. "Let him help! He might do   
some good."  
  
The man sniffed, waving a torch at an advancing attacker. "We don't   
need the Watch, Olga."  
  
The woman ducked away from her father, and Sam grabbed her arm, pulling   
her back onto the bridge proper.  
  
"I don't know if I can help anyway!" he shouted, over the roar of the   
mob.   
  
"They've already cut off the Brass Bridge," she said, and he saw tear   
tracks down her face through the soot. "We ought to be helping!"  
  
"There's nothing can be done. Unless you can bring the river over its   
banks," Sam said. The woman -- Olga -- stared at him, openmouthed, and   
the stray thought skittered across his brain a moment after.  
  
"The river gate," he said. "The river's high already. If we close   
it -- "  
  
"It'll flood the city!"  
  
"Burn or flood, take your pick. Wet people dry," he said. "Come on,   
Nobby, let's go."  
  
There was a paved place along the river from bridge to gate, which in   
happier times had been a sedate river walk, before having fallen into   
disrepair. Sam, with all the energy of the young, bounded over the   
cracked cobbles and heaved paving stones like a jackrabbit. Fred fell   
behind after a minute, and Sam didn't stop to wait; in the back of his   
mind he knew that even the combined strength of him, Nobby, and Fred   
could hardly close the big gates that stood over the river Ankh and   
allowed it to flow unchecked out of the city.   
  
He was somewhat surprised to hear the woman Olga running along behind   
him. She was keeping up better than Fred, he thought.   
  
Sam halted in front of the River House, which protected the mechanisms   
that shut the gates. He ducked inside, avoiding cobwebs, and wondered   
when it'd been oiled last. There was the chain that drove the gates,   
and the wheel that drove the chain, and the walkway, crusted with years   
of Ankh-borne slime, that led to the mighty gates themselves.   
  
Sam knew, deep down in the place where Watchman's intuition met simple   
cynicism, that the wheel was rusted solid. He knew they'd have to go   
up on the walkway and likely would fall into the river and, if not   
drown, then catch something really /dreadful/.   
  
Might as well make a show of it, though.  
  
"Nobby, find some oil," he ordered. "You help me move this wheel,   
miss."  
  
Olga nodded and took a firm grip on one of the spokes.   
  
"On my count we pull," he said. "And you'd best put everything you've   
got into it. Ready? One, two, pull!"  
  
Nobby came running with an oil can as Sam and Olga strained against the   
wheel. Fred Colon, wheezing, reached the doorway before passing out.  
  
"Oh bloody hell," Sam said, glaring at his Corporal's recumbent form.   
"One more try. One, two, /pull/!"  
  
Nobby dumped half the can on the wheel, to no avail. This used to be a   
Watchman's job, Sam remembered. Closing the gates every night. Well,   
probably not this one, or the city would flood quite a bit more often.   
But gates in general.  
  
"It's no good, mister," Nobby grunted. "Even if you do get it moving,   
it won't move the chain."  
  
"Blast. I knew it," Sam groaned. "All right, miss, you'd better stay   
here."  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
"Up," Sam answered, clambering up the ladder like a rat leaving a   
sinking ship. "It's no good you following, this is a man's job," he   
added. "I don't want you falling in."  
  
In a few years, Sam would have been wise enough not to say this; in a   
few years more, he would have been wise enough to say it and add a few   
/more/ insults on a woman's character before allowing her, quite   
politely, to assert that she could do anything he could do, and do it   
better.  
  
Olga followed him anyhow. He saw her picking her way along the walkway   
as he put his shoulder to the moss-encrusted old wood. He hoped it was   
only moss, anyhow.  
  
"I'll help," she shouted, moving to stand next to him.   
  
"It'll never move! It's too big!" he yelled back, over the rushing   
water. /Don't look down, Sam.../  
  
"Then why are you trying?"  
  
"Too stubborn to stop!" he answered, through gritted teeth. "Anyway,   
the scaffolding doesn't go out far enough for us to push it all the   
way!"  
  
"We only have to push it until it's in the current! The water'll do the   
rest!" Olga said encouragingly.   
  
Oh, so we only have to move the entire world /a little/...  
  
He strained until every muscle in his body twanged. Olga, next to him,   
gave a very unladylike grunt of effort.  
  
He put his back to the gate and tried pushing that way, which was, as   
Nobby liked to recount in later years, the only reason Nobby Nobbs   
didn't die on the scaffold*. The lad was tugging a revived Corporal   
Colon up off the ladder, and when he saw Sam, he left the Corporal to   
his own devices and came running nimbly along the thin walkway. Sam   
watched in horrified slow-motion as Nobby's foot hit a particularly   
wet patch, and he slid off the walk altogether.  
  
"HELP!" the boy shrieked. Sam ran to the edge, and felt the world reel   
as he looked down at the river, which boiled and frothed below. Nobby   
was clinging to a scaffold pipe, screaming bloody murder. Sam threw   
himself down and reached one hand over the edge. He felt Olga take a   
good firm grip on his legs.  
  
"Come on, troublemaker," Sam said, trying to smile over the feeling of   
a metal walk cutting into his abdomen. "Grab hold."  
  
Nobby, one hand slipping free, made a desperate waving grab for Sam's   
arm, and caught it. Sam was just about to pull him up when Nobby,   
monkey-like, shot up the arm, over Sam's helmet, and down his back. Sam   
pushed himself up and glared. Olga gave him a sharp tug to his feet,   
and the three of them, soon joined by a trembling Fred Colon, put their   
weight on the door.  
  
"Shoulders up!" Sam yelled. "One, two, /PUSH!/"  
  
"Sodding arseholes," Nobby grunted, using all of his ninety pounds to   
strain against the big wooden door. Sam saw black spots dance before   
his eyes --   
  
The door creaked.  
  
"/Push!/" Olga cried excitedly. The door creaked again. Something   
snapped, far up above, and the creaking became a groan as the door   
moved easier away from them. The other door, linked with this one by   
the thin rusty chain, also moved.   
  
Sam slipped, caught himself on the open railing, and stared. Colon and   
Olga had stopped, as well. Nobby turned to push with his   
shoulderblades, saw them, and whirled.  
  
The giant river gates, pushed by the current, were swinging shut. The   
walkway shook when they clanged together.  
  
Sam glanced down and realized there was /one more problem/...  
  
"Look at the river," Olga said, amazed. It was already spilling its   
banks, pounding rebelliously against the firmly-shut gates.   
  
"It's rising, erm, sort'a quickly," Fred wheezed.   
  
"We've got to get onto the wall," Sam said, glancing up. The city   
walls rose a good forty feet above them. Climbing was out of the   
question, but surely --   
  
"Back to the gatehouse, there's a ladder from there," Olga pointed.   
Despite the water rising quickly below, they made their way carefully.   
One glance over the edge had been more than enough for Sam.  
  
"Nobby can't climb that," Fred said, goggling at the rickety ladder.   
"He can barely reach the rungs!"  
  
"I can so!" Nobby said hotly, but the hesitant look on his pinched face   
said otherwise.  
  
"You go," Sam barked at Fred. "Then you, miss. Go on."   
  
Fred and Olga began the long ascent. Sam looked up at wiggling bottoms,   
then back down at Nobby.  
  
"When was the last time you had a bath?" he asked, keeping one eye on   
the foaming water. There was a hiss as the flood began to meet the   
fire.  
  
"What year is it?" Nobby asked with a grin.  
  
"I'm going to regret this. Hup, on my shoulders," Sam said. Nobby   
wrapped his grubby, grimy arms around Sam's neck, and a terribly   
/organic/ smell engulfed him. He could feel the kid's toaster-rack   
chest against his back.  
  
"If you fall, I'm not coming back down," Sam warned. "And I'm going   
to...well, I'll pay someone to hold you down and give you a good   
scrubbing, if we live through this."  
  
"Ere, wot've I done to deserve that?" Nobby asked, as Sam began to   
climb. The water touched his boots.   
  
Fred was just helping Olga onto the wide, solid expanse of the wall,   
easily eight feet across with raised battlements, when there was a   
teeth-rattling explosion. Sam, halfway up, suddenly found himself   
shooting over onto the wall, and turning to stare in horror at a cloud   
of curious blue smoke rising from the far side of the city.  
  
"Oh /no/," he and Fred groaned in unison.   
  
"What was that?" Olga asked, staring.  
  
"Bearhugger's distillery," Sam moaned. He stared morosely at the blast   
site.   
  
"There's whiskey prices up five dollars," Fred sighed.  
  
"I could just go a drink, too," Sam added wistfully.   
  
"I need a smoke," Fred agreed. Sam dug in his breastplate and passed   
him a roll-up; after only a moment's hesitation, he gave one to Nobby,   
too. Olga declined with all the graciousness of a queen.  
  
"Matches're wet. Ere, Fred, you got any?"  
  
"Sure." Fred lit Sam's cigarette. They were covered in slime from the   
walkway and Sam knew he was looking out at the world from a   
soot-blackened face, but they were safe now. He hoped Iffy'd had the   
natural sense to get out of the city. He hoped Mum had made it out with  
Nan Scurrick.  
  
The quartet looked at the rising water in silence for a while, Olga   
leaning on the stone battlement. The flood, finally stopping about   
fifteen feet below, still flowed suckingly past, through the terribly   
narrow opening between the bottom of the gates and the riverbed.  
  
"I can see my house," Olga finally said. She pointed to what now looked   
like an island in the sea that had once been Ankh-Morpork. It was the   
highest estate in the city, unless you counted the Unseen University   
grounds. Sam's eyes fell on a posh mansion, still dry, and he looked at   
Olga. She didn't look more than eighteen and had never had cause to   
worry, but she had still risked flame and drowning and Nobby to save   
the rest of the city. Not bad, for a posh biddy.  
  
There was a sudden rain of hard, oblong shapes. One landed with a 'paf'   
noise, showering Sam with glass shards and liquid. The rest plunked   
down into the water, or further down onto the plains outside the city.  
  
"Looks like y'got yer wish, Constable," Fred said, holding up a large   
shard. A label hung from it -- Bearhugger's...  
  
Sam watched the rain of whiskey bottles with awe. "Explosion must've   
blown them out and up," he said, in a hushed voice. "Just hold my   
helmet, Nobby, there's a lad..."  
  
He swung himself down the ladder again until his heels were inches   
above the water, and clung there with one elbow wrapped around a rung.   
He began harvesting the floating bottles, tossing them up to Fred who,   
with proper motivation, could be very nimble indeed.   
  
The whirlpool created by the gap in the gates was sucking most of the   
debris towards them; a glance across the city told him that someone had   
closed the other gate, too, locking the water in until it all rushed   
out, or they could get a wizard out here to blow the door open again.   
Sam waved to CMOT Dibbler, floating past on his waterlogged sausage   
cart, and then managed to kick the merchant out of the way so that he   
could claim what turned out to be a lunch pail full of sandwiches,   
almost completely dry.   
  
"Four bottles for you and four for me and one for Nobby," Fred said, as   
Sam climbed back up and handed him the pail. "The lady didn't want any.  
Oh, lovely. Any roast beef?"  
  
"Could be." Sam took a paper-wrapped packet, and tossed one to Nobby.  
  
"Might as well give it a go, miss," he said, offering her the largest.   
"Could be up here a while -- "  
  
"Look!"  
  
Olga pointed to what looked, on first glance, like a woman floating   
in the air; as it drew closer, Sam saw that it was a wizard, riding   
on a broomstick. They all waved, and the wizard touched down.  
  
"Been sent to find you, ma'am," said the wizard. "Your father wants you   
up the house. Got to take you to him."  
  
"Oh, father won't be happy with me," Olga said, giving the Watchmen a   
pleased grin. "I'd better be off. Thank you!" she called, over her   
shoulder, as they flew off.  
  
"Wouldn't catch me on one of those in a million years," remarked Sam.   
"Tuck in, Nobby."  
  
They ate the sandwiches in relative silence, broken only by Sam's   
struggles to open one of the bottles. The water level was definitely   
dropping, now, and soon the walkway would be above the river again.   
What Sam could see of the city looked like a charred, drippy mess.   
  
"There's the Watch House," he said, warmed by a few shots of   
Bearhugger's finest, in the almost-certainty that they were off-duty   
and could be allowed a few vices. "Looks like it survived."  
  
"It would," said Fred vindictively.   
  
"Can't see home from here..." Sam trailed off, shading his eyes in the   
sunset. "If Mum's quilt got burned, I'm going to get /such/ a telling  
off."  
  
"Mrs. Colon took the china, the guest towels, and the baby," Fred said.   
"I'm almost sure they got out."  
  
"I'm goin' down," Nobby said firmly. "Got looting to do 'fore the   
soldiers get there."  
  
"This about does for me," Fred continued, as they Watched Nobby run off   
into the ruined city, coattails flapping. "It's the regiment from now   
on, I can tell you. Doing a proper job burning /other peoples'/  
cities."  
  
"But we saved it. I mean, lots more would have burned if we hadn't shut   
the gates," Sam pointed out.  
  
"Worl, yes. On the other hand..."  
  
"The /other/ hand? We put out the fire! Four of us! I should bloody   
well think it's medals-and-handshakes time!"  
  
"Yeah, but...like, there's goin' to be people mad about water damage,   
see? Wouldn't like to be known as the Man Who Pissed On Morpork. You're   
going to get a hiding from more than your mum once people find out."  
  
The two men looked at each other. Sam scrambled for the pail, stuffing   
the whiskey bottles into it. Fred was already sliding down the ladder.   
Furtively, they followed Nobby's muddy tracks back into the city, and   
away from the scene of the crime.   
  
Sam had just enough time to sweep up the flat and hang his mum's quilt   
out to dry before she got back.   
  
She took one look at him and shrieked; it would take days to get all   
the soot really and truly out of his skin. She didn't even want to   
/think/ about the stains in his clothing. What had he been doing,   
rolling in the mud?  
  
Sam bore it with good grace. It's easy to be an unsung hero when you've   
got four bottles of hard liquor under a floorboard in your bedroom.   
  
***  
  
Lord Ramkin spotted the dual-occupancy broomstick when it was still   
airborne, and was waiting on the perfectly-dry grounds of the Scoone   
Avenue house when it finally touched down.   
  
"Sybil Deirdre Olgivanna Ramkin!" he shouted. "Where the hells have you   
been?"  
  
"Found her on the city wall, long with some guardsmen and a monkey,"   
the wizard said, accepting an absently thrown money-sack from Lord   
Ramkin and kicking off again. He looked her up and down, sternly.  
  
"I've /told/ you, Olga, you mustn't go running off like that. It's bad   
for the reputation."  
  
"Yes, father," Sybil Ramkin answered, quietly.   
  
"With Watchmen! Barely better than common thieves!"  
  
"Yes, father."  
  
"You could have been killed. Are you hurt?"  
  
"No, father."  
  
"Well. That's good. Have you eaten? I thought not. Up to the house with   
you, gel," he said, more kindly now. "You look knackered. The staff   
have all got at loose ends, I'm afraid, but there ought to be food in   
the kitchen and clean dry clothes."  
  
Sybil smiled as her father's unceasing monologue on unreliable   
servants, dangerous criminals, and bloody stupid floods continued   
behind her. She had rather liked the whole adventure, and had looked   
forward to spending an exciting evening camped on the city walls. On   
the other hand, she wasn't about to say no a bath and a change of   
clothes.  
  
They were certainly dashing, the Watchmen. Imagine clinging by the   
heels to a ladder just to get hold of some cheap alcohol! Shouting at   
father like that, and shoving those bloody great doors shut. It must be   
a wonderful, adventurous life.   
  
END  
  
  
  
* This sometimes garnered glares at Vimes from those who knew Nobby,   
but he shrugged them off. Adrenaline does strange things to people. 


End file.
